A Snake in the Garden
by LunaStellaCat
Summary: Hippocrates Smethwyck runs his ward during Christmastime and gets an unexpected visitor. Any reviews or critiques would be appreciated. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
1. A Snake in the Garden

"A Snake in the Garden"

18 December 1995

He loved this place because it provided a safe harbor.

Hippocrates Smethwyck hated the holiday season. Well, to be fair, he hated the holiday season outside the walls of Saint Mungo's. All the crazy people came running out of the woods, and family members liked to kill each other over Christmastime. Maybe it was the eggnog, or the stories, or Celestina Warbeck. Okay, he tolerated the holiday season and went through its motions. He wanted Celestina Warbeck, this so-called "Singing Sorceress" to be trapped in a cell with nothing else to listen to but her own vile voice singing her renditions of Christmas carols.

Yeah, that was right. He went there. He might be a Healer, but Hippocrates had his limits. First off, she was tone deaf, and she wasn't that attractive for another. Why did they have to play this horrible screeching stuff on every single wireless in the hospital? As Hippocrates headed over to the canteen for a bite to eat after signing off on his clipboards, he checked his watch. He was actually leaving this place at a reasonable hour. It was shortly after midnight.

"Sir, the EMPs are bringing in an interesting case," said Augustus Pye, an eager Trainee Healer assigned to Hippocrates's service last summer. He was a young, thin black man with big ears. He practically danced on the balls of his feet every time something as minor as a Bowtruckle bite arrived on the premises.

"Everything's interesting to you, Augustus." Hippocrates signed off on his last clipboard and handed his work over to the plump matron, Ruthie. He liked her. "Hey, can you make sure Mary, the lady in bed three, actually drinks his potions instead of pouring them into the plants? Watch her like a hawk."

"I'm on it." Ruthie found Mary's clipboard in the stack and made a note. She sat back in her chair and ate a large sandwich. She was on the graveyard shift, fourth shift, and she'd a long time along to grab a bite when it was slow. She slammed a brown paper bag on the table. The canteen was dead at this hour. "Ham and cheese on rye, with a plain side salad and crisps. I asked the house-elf to slide in a toasty. The wife says you like them."

"Really?" Hippocrates checked the bag. Smiling, he spotted the cheese sandwiches wedged in the bag. It made him think of soup and bedtime stories. He grinned. "I am a kid again."

"Uh huh. Abbey said you'd say that." Ruthie put on her glasses and opened a copy of the Evening Prophet. "Speaking of kids, how many does this one make?"

Hippocrates, starting to walk away, threw up three fingers. The place didn't run the same without his wife there. Abigail had actually been one of his Trainee Healers years ago. He had offered her a cup of coffee nine years ago, thinking it would make her feel better after losing her first lycanthropy patient. She'd turned him down and actually tossed it in the wastebasket, though Hippocrates missed the hint. Abbey turned down the tea, too, when Hippocrates decided to change things up. She'd taken the caramel macchiato thing he bought her during a hellish marathon shift. He'd read that as a good sign and made his move.

Hippocrates was the Healer-in-Charge on the Dai Llwellyn ward. Now, ten years ago, he was a quiet, modest man. He'd would've thanked everyone from Magical Maintenance to his dead, inappropriate grandmother. (May she rest in peace.). When he'd actually got the position five years ago, he felt like it was long overdue.

When a man gets a long awaited position at forty, retirement gets placed on the back burner. He'd had a kid that year, too, which pretty much erased any ideas of actually enjoying his pension. He'd tried and tried to have children for years. When he'd finally accepted he would be childless, the equipment finally kicked in and started working.

"It's another girl," Ruthie called after him. There was a running bet on the gender of Hippocrates's and Abigail's third child. They had two little girls under six.

Hippocrates ignored her. When he finally reached the hospital entrance, he dropped his sandwich. Two EMPs, emergency medical personnel, arrived on the scene. There was a man with red hair who was covered with a sheet as white as he was. The white turned to red and the sheet got changed. Hippocrates picked up the pace and ran bedside the trolley.

"What've we got, Jaime?" Hippocrates snapped on gloves Augustus offered him and replaced Jaime's hands over the chest wound. Jaime was one of his favorites; he was trying to win the kid over to joining ranks with St. Mungo's.

"Arthur Weasley, 45, attacked by a snake at the Ministry of Magic. I got him stable." Jaime handed the patient off and told his partner to go. They went up to the lifts to the First Floor.

"Come again?" That didn't sound right.

Certain he'd heard wrong, given he'd just come off a forty-eight hour shift, Hippocrates asked to hear about the incident again. Who got attacked by a massive snake on government premises? Hippocrates jerked his head towards Augustus, indicating the clipboard should be handed off to him.

"I'm sayin'," said Jaime, keeping his hands on the trolley. Augustus confirmed the story.

"Blood Replenishing Potion?" Hippocrates shot at him as they raced towards the ward. The packed wound had lost its hold and blood leaked out of Mr. Weasley like water through a tap. Blood covered Hippocrates's trainers.

"I'm out. He was losing it faster than I can put it in," said Jaime. Jaime actually screamed when Hippocrates touched Arthur Weasley's soaked robes. His gloves had been eaten through like acid.

"Hands off!" Hippocrates, ignoring his own call for the moment, tore open Arthur's Weasley's robes. Another Healer stepped in for Jaime as Hippocrates gloved himself again.

"He needs platelets," said Jaime, not sounding confident, shuffling his feet. When the others looked at him, he blushed. He told the floor platelets were the clogging factor in blood.

Jaime was right! Hippocrates turned to Augustus, speaking slowly but firmly. "I need you to listen to me, all right?"

"Yeah, boss." Augustus tore off his own gloves and tossed them in a wastebasket.

"Go back to the canteen. Ask Ruthie to please send an owl to Abbey telling her I'm not coming home. Her mum can watch over the girls. Find out if her contractions have stopped. If not, I want my wife here once they've started every five minutes."

Augustus grinned from ear to ear. "She's having the baby?"

"I-I don't ...can you focus, please? Thank you. " Hippocrates switched to damage control and repacked the wound before switching to dragon hide gloves. Jaime laughed at Augustus; they were good friends, but they called each other out on their mistakes. It took less than a minute for Hippocrates to gain control. Augustus shrugged, still smiling. "After you do that, I want you to run, not walk, run to fetch a clogging agent in my locker. It's in a green bottle. Go!"

Augustus tore from the ward at top speed. Once Arthur Weasley was stable again, Hippocrates forced another vial of Blood Replenishing Potion down his throat, praying that it would take effect in minutes. They were doing a number on this man's heart. There had to be a break between the potion and the clotting agent, and Hippocrates had no idea if this was going to work or not.

There was a wedding band on the man's left hand.

"He has a family. Damn it." Hippocrates tossed the empty vial into the wastebasket. They had to wait.

"I know his son. Charlie." Jaime leaned against the wall. "He's got like, seven kids. Why aren't you doing anything?"

"I'm waiting..." Hippocrates counted time off slowly in his head. "The potion needs to react first. Are you off shift?"

"Yeah." Jaime knelt onto the floor. He sounded beat. So far, Jaime held a perfect record with getting patients to the hospital in stable condition. "If he dies, this is on me. I gave him too much potion."

"Wait and see." Hippocrates sighed when Augustus returned and slapped the vial in his hand. Hippocrates unscrewed it and sprinkled it liberally over the wound. The effect was immediate. The puncture wounds sealed themselves and color returned to Mr. Weasley's face. Hippocrates, relieved as anyone else, started breathing evenly again. "Gentlemen, I think we saved a life here. Thanks to Jaime's quick thinking."

The other Healer and the matron congratulated the EMP. Hippocrates, after cleaning himself up, offered Jaime a clean hand and embraced him like a brother. Jaime, surprised at his own dumb luck, slapped him on the back. A matron came into the ward, announcing the man's wife had arrived. Hippocrates wanted Jaime to break the good news to her. At the moment Arthur Weasley was in the clear.

19 December 1995

Their victory, their stroke of good fortune, was short-lived. The venom was something Hippocrates had never seen before. Honestly, that's why he loved this job. Things never got boring. The stubborn wound kept reopening, or perhaps it never quite closed. What he needed was an anti-venom, and it was hiding from him. Hippocrates sometimes got obsessed with finding answers. He raced against the clock, and time never seemed to be on his side. When he'd walked into the ward the following morning, he dashed over to Arthur Weasley and Augustus Pye. His patient was bleeding to death again.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hippocrates resisted the urge to shove the Trainee Healer aside and take the reigns, yet he reminded himself this was a teaching hospital. Deciding to let Augustus learn from his mistakes, Hippocrates cleaned the wound and instructed Augustus on his wrapping technique. Pale and tired, Arthur didn't say much and didn't utter a single complaint. "Pack the wound."

"Okay." Augustus followed his instructions, overcorrecting way too much. Hippocrates, patient, asked him to start over twice. It took fifteen minutes. A stack of bloody bandages got tossed in the wastebasket. "Still with us, Mr. Weasley?"

Mr. Weasley gave them a thumbs-up when Hippocrates helped him back in bed after changing the bed things. An orderly assisted them and took the bloody things off to the laundry. Hippocrates waved his wand and caught a goblet of Blood Replenishing Potion.

"All right, we're not doing that again. That was scary," said Hippocrates, checking Augustus's handwork after washing up. He spoke conversationally, though he felt that he played a game against an unknown opponent. He'd ruined his second pair of trainers in two days, although he might be able to save these. He'd tossed last night's in the dumpster because they were too far gone. He hadn't even left the hospital because he feared killing Molly Weasley's husband.

Luckily, his own wife had had a false alarm. You'd think with this being her third pregnancy, she'd know the signs. Abbey really wanted to have this baby already. As she was more than a week overdue, she'd grown impatient. She'd returned to work the following morning. Some Healer on the Board of Directors flagged her for not complying with the dress code and gave her what he referred to as a warning. Abbey, in true fashion, ripped up the pink slip right in front of him before she headed off to rounds.

Hippocrates hadn't been there, but he wished that he had because he needed a laugh. Abigail was bold, which is why he guessed he'd fallen in love with her in the first place. She was a pretty girl with a hidden ferocity inside her. The woman didn't look like much. She was short in patience as well as stature, although Abigail had a big heart. Before they'd married, she'd chosen lycanthropy as her speciality. As he watched her approach her newest patient, Hippocrates admired her.

"She's pretty," said Mr. Weasley, following his gaze. Abbey donned a simple red dress this morning obviously big with child, and wore tinsel in her dark hair. Augustus had left to take a break. Arthur Weasley frowned, probably making a snap judgement on her condition.

"She's taken," said Hippocrates, flashing his left hand as he filled out his paperwork. "We've been married for seven years. She wears the ring around her neck."

"Oh, that's nice," said Arthur, who clearly hadn't expected this answer. When Hippocrates didn't elaborate, he picked up a newspaper and started reading through it.

Hippocrates excused himself to continue checking on his other patients. There were two. As the woman with the bandaged leg was sleeping, he decided to visit the werewolf first. The man hadn't even given them a name. His face was green and sweaty, and he certainly looked ill. The crew had carried him in when Hippocrates had dozed off in the sleeping quarters.

Abbey had walked away from the werewolf patient for a moment. Hippocrates had heard raised voices, and she needed to cool off.

"How was last night?" Hippocrates led her over to one of the empty beds. They sat down.

"I want to kill your daughter," she said, taking a sip of the coffee he'd conjured and handing it back to him.

"Maisie?" Hippocrates guessed it was the one going through her terrible twos. He threw his favorite under the bus.

"No. You know what's not fun to do when you think you're in labor?" Abigail took off her shoes and checked her ripped sheer tights. She mended them with a tap of her wand. This was one of those questions where Hippocrates was supposed to wait for the answer. So he did. "Chasing your five year old who is going on fifteen because she doesn't want to go to bed."

"Where was your mother?" Hippocrates knew this answer before it left his lips.

"She left." Abigail shrugged. "At least she's consistent. She never was much of a mum. Lisa stayed. She got Cecilia to bed and ran me a hot bath."

"The nanny stayed overnight? She's a keeper." Hippocrates, impressed, gave his wife a high five. "Give her a handsome Christmas bonus."

Hippocrates decided to tag team this case with his wife. After all, this was his ward, and he'd ultimately be responsible for this man whenever he left the hospital. This was going to be difficult. Hippocrates had been through this countless times before. In all cases but one, anger reared its ugly head first. On that occasion, a eight year old boy had his parents had been paralyzed by fear. That boy had bled to death. After finishing his coffee, he threw the cup away and helped his wife to her feet.

"Sir," said Hippocrates kindly. "I am Healer Smethwyck."

"Oh, so you're married to the wet nurse? She's a bitch. My condolences." The man connected the dots easily because both Hippocrates and Abigail gave the same name.

Abbey, affronted, raised her eyebrows and handed over the clipboard. She said nothing as Hippocrates read through the useless information on their John Doe. Abbey had hardened a lot over the years, so she had pretty thick skin. When people got angry at the hospital, the Healers were their outlet. Hippocrates waved his wand and two chairs zoomed over to John Doe's bedside. Abbey sat down. Presenting themselves as a married couple at work sometimes worked like a double-edged sword. Some people loved it; other patients asked for competent counsel.

Hippocrates went for the nice bloke approach. "Abbey and I have worked with werewolves for twenty years. I know it seems bleak, I do, but it gets easier."

"Oh, really? You get it. You've got gold, a steady career, and a family, and she's going to pop any day now." The man nodded at Abbey. "It must be so hard with your lovely house and your family."

Abbey pressed her arms on the chair and heaved herself out of it. Someone had spared this man for a reason. He doubted the EMPs who had delivered this man onto the premises had known the remedy; powdered silver and a touch of dittany sealed a werewolf bite. She walked over to the man, held his face in her hand and stroked it. Hippocrates, who had expected another shouting match, gripped the back of his chair.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," she said, her voice suddenly soft and caring. "You're a handsome man. You're a pain, it's true, but you deserve to be treated like a human being. You are a human being."

She wiped a tear from the man's face.

"You're still a bitch," John Doe assured her.

"Yeah, well ..." Abbey trailed off, not really caring.

"Can I get your name, please?" Hippocrates found quill and ink in the bedside cabinet.

"Michael Gallagher," he said, taking some Kleenex Abbey offered him. When she moved her hair over to the side, he saw the slashes on her neck. "What happened to you?"

"Same thing that happened to you, I expect, except I met a man and not a wolf." Abbey let her hair fall. She'd gone alone to meet Fenrir Greyback and saved a child. It was a foolish thing, as Abbey was by nature a pacifist. As she'd worked in lycanthropy for years, she'd always been a marked target. She took her handbag off her shoulder and opened her wallet and showed him some photographs. "This is my second daughter, Maisie. This girl? That's Cecelia."

Hippocrates slipped into this trap far too often these days. He knew his eldest daughter would give him hell for it in future. "Cecelia, you're breaking my heart. You're shaking my confidence daily. Oh, Cecelia, I'm down on my knees. I'm begging you, please, to come home."

"Simon and Garfunkel," said Michael, recognizing the lyrics. Hippocrates beamed at him.

"You're a Muggle,"Abbey guessed. Michael corrected her, saying he was half and half. "Hippocrates's father was a postman. He's glad someone finally caught the reference. Michael, you are at the top of my list, even though I have my girls and this fool here. You have my word. If you need help with finding a job or you're struggling to pay rent, I can help you."

"With three kids?" He sounded doubtful.

"We'll manage." Hippocrates rested his hand on the back of the chair. He cleared his throat and checked his watch. He didn't know how they made ends meet sometimes, and he often felt they were quite lucky as a small family. "We've helped others along the way. Think about it."

Michael nodded, although Hippocrates doubted they had actually gotten through to him. He held his daily consultation with the woman by the door; they'd been doing this for four days now. After checking on the lady with the thing on her leg and getting nowhere fast, Hippocrates updated the patient's records. He'd give it another shot later on. Whilst they wouldn't judge her, and he'd assured her of this already, for he really didn't care about the details, Hippocrates needed to know how to treat her. Abbey stood back as he changed the patients bandages with sure hands.

"You know, Mary, you could just make it easier on us and simply tell us what happened. I'm going to find out anyway." He lowered her legs and covered her with a light blanket. Mary pulled the blanket up higher. Hippocrates made light of the whole thing, yet he found this game a bit wearing. He had better things to do like laundry, or God forbid, Christmas shopping. "There'll be this thing, which will lead to another thing when the battery of tests come out my Trainee Healer will resent me for wasting his time. And then we'll know. I'll have to question you again, and you'll cry. I don't like the crying thing. Don't you wanna spend the holidays at home? I make house calls."

Abbey, tapping her foot and clicking her tongue, rested her hand on her stomach.

"Scratch that. I'm rather on hiatus with the house calls," said Hippocrates, quickly editing the last part as his wife stared him down dangerously. He lowered his voice, milking an advantage that wasn't even there. "I've got this wife with a baby on the way, see ..."

Abbey tossed a pillow at him and hit him in the back of the head. Arthur Weasley, despite the fact that he couldn't possibly hear anything from across the room, laughed. Mary shook her head vigorously.

"Want her to talk? Scare her. Tell her you've got to amputate the leg if she won't budge. No answers? No leg." Abbey steered her husband towards the fifth floor.

"Abigail," he sighed, scolding her. "Not funny, Short Stuff."

They stopped inside the canteen to enjoy free time. This was the calm before the storm before the holidays hit. She asked the house-elf behind the station for a thick milkshake. The house-elf, a little surprised, stopped as he cleaned this station after the breakfast rush. She restored to pleading like a little girl. "Come on."

"You don't need one," said Hippocrates. "It's winter, Abbey? It's cold outside."

"Yes, but I want one." She pouted, reminding him remarkably of their daughter, Maisie.

Hippocrates caved, throwing up two fingers. He reached inside the pocket of his lime-green robes and placed two Galleons on the counter to sweeten the deal. He was not above bribery, but he was fully aware the house-elf wouldn't take it. He spoiled the nanny better than he spoiled his own wife, and this was truly saying something. The house-elf, his eyes darting left and right, pretended the coins simply weren't there. The house-elf, grinning toothily at them, placed a tray with two tall glasses on the belt minutes later. There was also two large breakfast plates.

"Got any coffee?" Hippocrates, pushing it, decided he might as well ask. Three house-elves, leaving their respected stations, returned with an assortment, including sugar, cream, and milk on the side. He choose a caramel macchiato. They headed off the table by the Christmas tree. "They give good service here."

Abbeycast a Freezing Charm on their milkshakes and set them aside by the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers. She squeezed into the booth before dishing out the food.

"That is good food. I haven't sat down to an actual meal in ages." Hippocrates tapped one of the milkshake glasses. "These don't count as breakfast. Don't tell the girls."

"This never happened. I needed something to calm my nerves before the Acromantula sting."Abbey worked as a specialist, but she took general stuff on the side. As a senior Healer, she got to pick and choose whatever she wanted. Abbey snd Hippocrates both enjoyed this freedom.

"No way. The patient survived?" Hippocrates took the clipboard she magicked out of thin air and read through the file. He loved the photographs. "Talk about your Christmas present! Oooh, I want one."

"It was a baby spider," said Abbey proudly, taking it back as she sucked down her milkshake. She smiled, enjoying his humorless laugh. "You're getting a baby for Christmas. This is mine."

Hippocrates pondered this as he ate his breakfast. He gestured with his fork, waving it over their food. "Who sends a spider to someone over Christmas?"

Abbey chuckled darkly, no doubt imagining it in her head. "Picture someone with arachnophobia."

"You're twisted." Hippocrates liked that about her. He pulled a straight face, nudging his milkshake towards her for later. "Seriously, Short Stuff, I want in."

"No, we promised the girls a regular Christmas before the baby arrives. The tree needs decorating, and Maisie wants to make practice Christmas biscuits for Father Christmas." Abigail patted him sympathetically on the arm. When Hippocrates rolled his eyes, she dropped the sympathy for seriousness, blinking her eyes furiously. "Yes, that's a thing. She's two, Hippocrates, come on! We're gonna have this baby, and she's gonna think we've forgotten her. If we make excuses for one thing... this small thing ... it'll get easier to fall into a pattern. Next thing you know, I'm my mother. Ooops, we're screwed."

"Whoa, whoa." Hippocrates held up a hand to stop this spiel from snowballing out of control. "I'll make biscuits."

He snatched a few napkins and handed them to her, waiting patiently for her to halt the sudden wave of water works. Abbey composed herself. He nibbled his toast before he set it aside, deciding he didn't want it, and got up to toss their stuff in the wastebasket. He returned the tray to the converter belt wishing the house-elves a Happy Christmas. When he returned to the table, he flicked his wand and the milkshake glass disappeared, replaced by a tall, paper cup, complete with a coffee sleeve with a crossed bone and wand emblem.

He handed it to Abbey, after extracting her from the booth with difficulty. "Happy Christmas."

"A milkshake for a baby?" She shrugged, taking the trade as they headed back into the hustle and bustle of the hospital. She sniffed the aroma coming from the tiny hole in the lid. "Peppermint. What the hell? I'm as big as a house, anyway."

"You enjoy Christmas, Short Stuff," he said, looping her arm through his and patting it. "Cecelia, Maisie, and this one are going to be so confused about Christmastide. They're getting mixed signals. Thought of a name yet?"

"Merry." She smiled serenely, spelling it out for him. Hippocrates scoffed. He should've expected this. Abbey frowned. "Well, she's biding her time. It's short for Meredith. Why not?"

"I dunno!" Hippocrates thought this answer was an obvious one. When he headed down the corridor, he spotted Augustus and Jaime walked ahead of them reading some magazine and giggling like schoolgirls. Hippocrates snatched the magazine from Jaime with ease. It flew into his hand with a simple spell, so he flipped through it, holding it out of their reach. Abbey glanced at it, raising an eyebrow. It contained pictures of scantily clad Muggle girls. "Really, fellas, really?"

Augustus shrugged, blaming his friend for snatching it out of the wastebasket. Hippocrates smacked him in the back of the head with the September edition. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"What are you? Fifteen? I used to hoard these in my father's attic. And secondly, you're supposed to be sleeping! When I tell you leave, you do things." Hippocrates counted suggestions off on his fingers. "You eat. You sleep. You shower, you dirty rat. You run errands. Do laundry. You study. There's a novel idea, eh? Run laps around this establishment, for all I care! Ride with Jaime, if you need to, Augustus. Not this. You're better than this, man!"

He tossed the magazine in the wastebasket; it got gobbled up. Abbey kept glancing at Jaime. Jaime, usually a happy fellow, slumped his shoulders. Hippocrates usually didn't bother with the medical personnel. This kid showed promise. Abbey conjured a chair.

"Jaime." Abbey patted the back of the chair and placed her hands on his shoulders when he finally sat down. "What's wrong, honey?"

"His patient died en route today," said Augustus. He sat on the floor. He said the rest in a rush, like he feared they wouldn't let him finish. "I rode with him, and I know I'm not supposed to do that without written approval, or permission, or whatever, Healer Smethwyck, hear me out. It was a kid."

Jaime had needed his best mate.

"Jaime Burke." Hippocrates equated this to ripping off a bandage, wrapping a wound again, and letting it heal. He offered his hand, shaking his head at Abbey when she started to accompany them, and pulling Jaime to his feet. After reminding Augustus to give Mr. Weasley his potion every hour, he steered Jaime through the emergency exit. They walked over to the ambulances. Hippocrates opened the passenger side door, getting ready to climb in the cab. "You coming? I can't drive this damn thing."

Jaime shook his head and crossed his arms. He'd walked over the wall and slammed his hand against it at set intervals. Hippocrates got out of the vehicle when he'd guessed Jaime had finally broken through the skin because he certainly wasn't dropping that tick. Taking his hand carefully, accessing the damage, Hippocrates, a little surprised, froze when the kid sobbed onto his shoulder.

24 December 1995, Christmas Eve

Jaime got back on the streets a couple days later. Hippocrates kept an eye out for the young man because he wasn't going to settle for defeat. Jaime was simply too good to walk away. The ride was under investigation, though the medical personnel officials had allowed Jaime to continue his shifts with a pending investigation. Things would probably stalled until next year. Hippocrates waited for Jaime to return to the hospital every night. Of course, word got around and Jaime got landed with the graveyard shift.

Hippocrates held his sleeping daughter, Maisie, in his arms as he paced the waiting room. After seven o'clock in the evening, the Welcome Witch shut down the desk and everything got directly routed to emergency room.

"Daddy, I wanna go home," said Maisie, a little later on, enjoying her half-eaten peppermint stick.

"I know." Hippocrates had had the sense to change into Muggle clothing after shift. He wore his favorite Manchester United football jumper over some old jeans. It was the only clean outfit in his locker. He checked his watch and draped the green gift bag over his arm., speaking to himself. "Don't stand me up, Remus."

"Mr. Jaime?" Half-listening, Maisie laid her head his shoulder and wrapped her hands around his neck.

"No, not Jaime. Well, yeah, we're waiting for Jaime. Daddy's waiting for someone else." Searching the gathering crowd, Hippocrates regretted not leaving her at home with Abbey and Cecilia. She was a little girl, yet she asked good questions even when she was dead tired. He jumped out of his skin when someone tapped him on other shoulder minutes later.

"You weren't sleeping?" Abbey ducked a little, dodging a potentially bad accident. Hippocrates swung his arm back. She stood on her tiptoes or at least tried to, catching herself when she nearly toppled over trying to kiss Maisie. She shook with laughter and took off her broken shoe. The heel had snapped. "That would've been a story to tell after a drunken night out."

"Look, Maisie, Mum shrunk about four inches." Hippocrates didn't budge when Abbey slapped him with the broken shoe. "That's not magic, Short Stuff, that's an unfortunate accident ... because you're short, in case you were wondering."

He actually tacked that part on at the end to anger her.

"Oh, ha, ha," said Abbey, dryly, rolling her eyes. Abbey seemed distracted. She led him back up to the ward as she fed him one of his favorites. "And I don't have far to fall..."

"... because you're short. Yes, I'm glad you've finally decided to see the light." Hippocrates stopped dead. He'd been about to ask if she'd heard from Remus Lupin and why she had bothered coming back to the hospital at this late hour.  
Both questions died on his lips as he stared at Fenrir Greyback. He'd never met the man before, though he knew him by reputation. Frightened, scared out of his mind, Hippocrates held Maisie closer. "What is he doing here?"

"Don't panic, Hippocrates." Abbey placed a hand on Greyback's shoulder as she approached him. Greyback nodded, letting her lift his robes and reveal the exposed bone in his leg. "Remember we help anyone. We are neutral. Switzerland."

Switzerland would eradicate a monster, he thought dully.

They didn't take sides. Hippocrates himself had warned her of this when she'd joined the hospital staff years ago, and he felt rather insulted having his advice thrown back in his face. He wasn't going to allow this man onto his ward. He patted Maisie's head, not wanting her to make eye contact with the werewolf.

"Do it." Hippocrates stood up straighter.

"He doesn't like me, this one," sneered Greyback, addressing Abbey, who knelt down awkwardly to access the damage. Abbey said nothing. She mended the leg in no time after setting it. Greyback offered her a dirty hand when she'd finished her task. Abbey took it, hesitating. "It's been a while since we've last met."

"I remember," she said tonelessly. She groaned when he pulled her close and held a blade to her throat. "What're you doing?"

"You're a problem, Abigail," he said, his tone gravelly and controlled. He smiled at Hippocrates, his sharp teeth showing. He shook his head at Hippocrates. "Do not raise your wand, sir. Your wife keeps getting in my way, so we're having a chat. I warned her once."

"A chat? You are harming her!" Hippocrates gripped his wand in his hand. He chose to rely on an old rule; violence wasn't allowed in this place. No security wizards guarded this place. He backed away, showing his open hand before he placed it on Maisie's back again. He dropped his wand onto the floor. "Sanctuary. This place is a sanctuary."

"Sanctuary, sanctuary." Abbey reached up and touched Greyback. "Please."

"Mummy. I want Mummy." Maisie turned her head, reaching out to Abbey. "I wanna go home."

"Hey, Healer Smethwyck, the night wasn't that bad," said Jaime, running up to give his report. He took in the scene. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Jaime, I want you to take my daughter," said Hippocrates, forcing himself to stay calm and collected. He argued with Maisie, who panicked, not understanding what was going on. "Maisie, I will be right with you. Maisie, please. Jaime, I need you to walk ... do not run ... to the matron station. Tell them we are on High Alert, and this is not a drill. Contact the authorities at the Ministry. You got that?"

"Yes." Jaime didn't hesitate.

Hippocrates nodded, silently praying for the first time in years and kissing Maisie on the cheek. He didn't know if there was a higher power. "Jaime, take this child from me. Now!"

"Yes, sir." Jaime scooped up Maisie and darted down the corridor.

"She treated you. You ... you may leave." Hippocrates kept his eyes on the werewolf. He shook with fear, desperate. "Good God, it's Christmastime!"

Greyback lowered his blade. He held her close, resting a hand on her stomach and whispering in her ear. Color returned to Abbey's face and she took a step towards her husband.

A smile touched Greyback's lips. "Sanctuary."

A moment later, Greyback jerked his blade and slit her throat. It was one swift movement. Abbey, shocked, dropped to her knees and took great gasps through her throat. She reached towards Greyback, pleading for help that wouldn't come. Hippocrates, horrified, witnessed the longest minute of his life. Greyback, humming what sounded disturbingly like "Oh Come All Ye Merry Higgogriffs", stepped over the body and left the premises. 


	2. The Lexington Noir Project

25 December 1995, Christmas Day

In the evening, Hippocrates cursed himself for picking up another shift. This was just his luck; Abigail would go into labor on Christmas Day. The hospital honestly wasn't that busy, given it was the holiday, but he'd spent a good hour telling Augustus Pye off. Who used stitches to counteract snake venom? Augustus had tried to hide it from him, and this was the fool's first mistake. Hippocrates eventually found out everything.

He was a Muggle. Yes, Hippocrates knew what stitches were. In fact, and he'd confessed this to Augustus, Hippocrates, afraid of his father's wrath after an accident, Hippocrates had once stolen a suture kit from a local Muggle hospital and sown his own skin back together. The uneven scar on his wrist served as a reminder of his hack job.

Ruthie broke the news to him after tapping on the closed door of the sleeping quarters. Hippocrates wasn't going to have a shouting match over a patient in a ward. When she kept knocking, Hippocrates raised a finger, putting his rant on pause, daring Augustus to flee from him. Augustus shrank back.

He unlocked the door and yanked it open. He practically shouted at her, realizing too late Ruthie only delivered a message. "What is it?"

Ruthie raised an eyebrow, silently telling him to check that haughty attitude at the door.

"Sorry," mumbled Hippocrates, running a hand through his hair.

"She told me not to bother you because you were in back-to-back procedures. Healer Smethwyck came in about three hours ago. They're about three minutes apart. She's doing fine."

"The contractions?" Hippocrates pointed at Augustus, hoping he wouldn't cross the line. He gave a direct order. "You lay off those Muggle remedies. Go check Mr. Weasley because you aren't leaving his side till we've solved this, you hear me? You apologize profusely to Mrs. Weasley because I don't care if you have to grovel. If we're landed with a lawsuit for this, I swear, Mr. Stitches, I will nail your ass to the wall. You won't see the inside of this hospital for three months."

"Three months?" Augustus raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and backed off when Hippocrates hissed at him. He changed to a friendly, casual tone, squeezing out of the door and dashing towards the Dai Llwellyn ward. "Congratulations on the baby, sir."

"The baby's coming fast," said Ruthie, quickening her pace and Hippocrates ran after her. Although she was a head matron, she saw Hippocrates as an equal. When they reached the private room, Hippocrates heard wife screaming, followed shortly by a newborn's cry. Ruthie knocked on the door before they entered the room. "Your husband's hard to track down."

"I missed another one," said Hippocrates apologetically, striding over to Abbey. He brushed her sweaty dark hair out of her face as the matrons took the baby off to the side. The baby definitely had a healthy set of lungs. A minute passed. "How's her stats?"

"Healers make the worst patients," grumbled Ruthie, walking over to wash her hands and help the younger matron.

Abbey reached up and wrapped her long fingers around Hippocrates's wrist. "Shut up."

"It is a she. You lost your bet, Hippocrates." Minutes later, Ruthie, holding the newborn to her chest and came back to place her in Abbey's arms. She reeled off stats. "She's a pretty one. Christmas is shot, though."

"Doesn't matter. She's the best Christmas gift ever," said Abbey softly, her eyes on the child. She waved to the other matrons and thanked them as they left. Hippocrates, tired despite the slow day, sat down and groaned when she punched him in the arm. "It took you seven minutes to get here? What's that about? I think you plan these things."

"I was coming. You said continue work as normal because patients come first." He kissed her and bent to press his lips to the baby's forehead. "I love you. She's beautiful. You're beautiful. We make beautiful girls."

"And lose money in the process. That's twenty-five Galleons. I'll collect later, shall I?" Ruthie read over the clipboard.

There was a loud beeping noise that sounded far off in the distance. Hippocrates had heard it before, yet he couldn't quite place his finger on is source.

Abbey coughed, spitting blood onto the white sheets. She gasped for air, her wheezing long and painful.

"Abbey." Alarmed, Hippocrates got to his feet. His hands were sweaty. He yelled at Ruthie, the chief matron on the floor. "What the hell are you doing? Do something!"

Ruthie, still reading her clipboard, spoke in a flat tone. She seemed intent on filling out her paperwork. Abbey's wound ripped open and blood spilled everywhere. "I can't do anything. What are you calling her?"

"I ... I don't know ...". Hippocrates searched desperately for packing supplies. The baby vanished from Abbey's arms. She grabbed his wrist again, strangely calm as her face drained of color. Hippocrates, surprised by the dampness on his face, realized he was crying silent tears. He turned to Abbey for help, desperate. The soaked pads spilled onto the floor. "I can't ... I can't stop it. What do I do? Abigail!"

"Relax." Despite her deep wound, her severed throat, Abbey spoke normally. This wasn't right. Her face was deathly pale, and her bloody hand shook as he brushed it against his skin. "I'm not here, Hippocrates. Wake up, darling. Wake up!"

Hippocrates opened his eyes. He was drenched in a cold sweat; Hippocrates felt his damp face and stared at the ceiling. His undershirt clung to his skin. He was in the sleeping quarters lying on an uncomfortable cot. And he was quite alone.

28 December 1995

Three days later, they put his wife and his unborn child in the ground, and Hippocrates wasn't here. He'd gotten his girls ready for the service by dressing them in identical plain black dresses before he handed them off to Ruthie. Hippocrates couldn't face anyone. Hell, he couldn't even go into his own master bedroom. Work made sense. Life at the hospital made sense, so he headed there.

Mary, the lady with the mysterious bite, had finally fessed up. Hippocrates didn't know and he didn't care. She'd gotten discharged and left the hospital. After hours of research in the concealed medical library, Hippocrates had finally found what he'd been looking for for days. Augustus basically flew solo, handling Hippocrates's two remaining cases. He immediately placed an Owl Order and received his antidote from some Healer in the Middle East.

"And now we wait," said Hippocrates.

Hippocrates dropped his syringe in the wastebasket and peeled off a layer of Arthur Weasley's bandages, cautious as ever. There was a stack of bandages on the bedside cabinet ready to go if necessary. He mentioned casually if this didn't work, he'd just tossed a lot of gold down the drain. Arthur Weasley laughed. Augustus Pye took off the bandages after a half hour, tossed them in the wastebasket, and threw his hands up in the air.

"That's it?" Arthur grinned at Hippocrates, waiting for an answer. He closed his dressing gown. "It's not that I don't trust you, Healer Smethwyck, but we've been down this road before."

"You're cured." The smile didn't reach Hippocrates's eyes. He tapped his quill on the clipboard, thinking. He wanted the whole stitches incident thing to go away, for he didn't want nor need a stain on his record. It was easier to do this without Mrs. Weasley. He handed the clipboard and quill to Mr. Weasley. He lowered his voice, although there was little chance of him being overheard. "This is just a statement saying you agreed to the stitches procedure. You agree we are not responsible for any unforeseen consequences ...that sort of thing."

Arthur signed willingly, looking ashamed, and glanced fretfully at the ward door as if he expected his furious wife to come striding up the ward.

"No more Muggle remedies, okay?" Hippocrates fluffed his pillows and added the paperwork to the file. "I want you to stay overnight for observation. A precaution. Mr. Stitches will keep you company."

Augustus groaned, but he gave no complaint.

Arthur called after him as he turned to check on Michael. "Healer Smethwyck?"

Hippocrates stopped, handing Augustus Mr. Weasley's clipboard.

Mr. Weasley took his time before he said, "I'm sorry about your wife. I had a few conversations with her when I got bored, you know, she was lovely."

Hippocrates gave a curt nod and walked over to Michael. The young man wasn't alone; someone sat at his bedside.

The story got covered in the Daily Prophet as "an unfortunate accident". The writers of the newspaper claimed, and Hippocrates wasn't entirely sure why because Abbey had been a world renowned Healer with her lycanthropy research, Abigail Smethwyck had died due to complications in childbirth. One Healer, and Hippocrates didn't know who this was, had claimed to be on the scene and assured the public, for Caspar Downey had been quoted saying, "They'd done everything they could." Although he himself had given that recycled line to hundreds of families over the years, Hippocrates found he'd despised that saying.

Curious, Hippocrates checked the file. Michael Gallagher had dropped the Joe Doe routine, yet getting information out of him was still like pulling teeth. Hippocrates Smethwyck was no dentist. As he approached, he he laughed softly to himself, thinking he should've known, for he recognized the fellow by the back of his head.

Hippocrates met Remus Lupin when he when he was fifteen. It was difficult to actually define their relationship. After some incident involving some schoolboy prank going horribly wrong, Remus's father, Lyall, had put his foot down and slammed the pavement looking for answers. Lyall, a mellow man, usually didn't let things get to him. Hippocrates remembered a terrified man wandering into the hospital because Lyall had almost walked right out. Hippocrates, a Healer first off his training, had followed the man out of the hospital.

After a lot of talking down, Lyall agreed to a drink. They spent the entire afternoon discussing things in a pub. Hippocrates sat there and listened for a while. He'd blown off his double shift, something he'd rarely ever done in his career, and handed it off to another Healer, claiming he had food poisoning. Hippocrates got the entire spiel. For one thing, he thought the kid was beyond fortunate to be accepted into Hogwarts. When the afternoon was over, they agreed to meet again for another chat, and things got easier from there.

Hippocrates left that first afternoon with an idea planted into his head. Not all werewolves were bad people. They were indeed human beings. That summer, he met with Lyall's son, and he started crafting a plan for those who wanted help within the magical community. He wouldn't run awful, excruciating experiments on them like lab rats. He created a network. Hippocrates, and later his wife and a handful of mother Healers, worked to keep werewolves heads above water. They helped them find reasonable living conditions and minimum wage jobs. Werewolves couldn't hold careers given their reputation. They could, however, with a little help, get by. Hippocrates called his pet project the Lexington Noir Project. Before Professor Dumbledore offered Remus a post as the Defense the Dark Arts teacher two years ago, (and Hippocrates had absolutely nothing to do with that), Remus had worked as a dishwasher at a Muggle restaurant.

Remus might have held simple jobs through his life and jumped from place to place, but you would not know at first glance this kid, this young man, permanently lived below the poverty line. He was well educated and could probably run circles around Muggle students who attended prestigious universities. He knew a lot about Boggarts, and ghosts, and defensive spells, though this was due to his father. He read things like Shakespeare and Proust for fun, and he understood a little psychology, too.

"You don't call, and you don't write, but whatever, you know." Hippocrates clapped Remus on the shoulder and embraced Remus when he got to his feet. Remus pointed out, as always, that a telephone would be useless to both of them. Hippocrates shrugged, releasing him. He switched to a stern look and his weak telling off voice, hoping pouring on the guilt. "I send you an owl, I send you loads of them, and nothing comes back for weeks. You could be ill. You could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere for all I know, but do I get anything? Anything at all. No! Why bother?"

Remus grimaced. "I've forgotten how good you were at this guilty conscience bit."

"I've got more," said Hippocrates, frowning when his mind went blank. "No, actually, I'm out."

Remus crossed his arms, giving Hippocrates what he wanted to hear. "I will write you, all right? I promise."

"You're like a good girlfriend, Remus," said Hippocrates, checking Michael's records. Remus sat back down. Smiling at Michael, Hippocrates added, "and we've through this over and over again. I'm like broken record. Remus always returns because they pretty ones always come crawling back."

Remus rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"What's a record?" Michael asked, setting aside his paper. Hippocrates, who knew for a fact Michael had a Muggle father, closed his clipboard and feigned disappointment. "It was a joke, sir."

"You two are jokers." Shaking his head, he walked off.

Hippocrates found a wheelchair in the corner and parked it by the bed before he waved his wand and conjured things he'd forgotten at home. Both Remus and Michael wore comfortable Muggle clothing. Though they were both wizards, they could have blended easily into the Muggle community. As it was closer to the full moon, though it was still a few days off, both men certainly looked ill. Michael resembled death, so Hippocrates guessed he'd lose his appetite before his first transformation. Micheal got into the wheelchair and took the parcels, a brown paper bag, and a green gift bag Hippocrates offered him. Hippocrates didn't forget the blanket at the foot of his bed.

They went outside. Hippocrates needed a break from the hustle and bustle, and Michael could use the fresh air. It was starting to drizzle and promised to be a rainy day.

"Don't you have other charges?" Michael sighed when Hippocrates handed him the light blanket, but he took it all the same.

"Don't you have a coat?" Firing a question back at him, Hippocrates flicked his wand again and caught his own black mackintosh and waited until Michael pulled it on. It was too big. "You'll catch your death out here."

"Did Abbey ever tell you you're a good mother?" Michael exchanged looks with Remus. Remus leaned against the the side of the dilapidated department store, grinning. Hippocrates smacked Michael upside the head. "Ouch. What was that for?"

"Not to worry, Michael. That means he likes you." Remus put his hands in his coat pockets. "He buys you presents."

"Speaking of which," said Hippocrates, taking the bags and parcels from Michael and dividing them up. Remus got the green bag and one of the rectangular parcels. Hippocrates opened Michael's bag and handed its contents over. "Homemade chicken noodle soup, leftover French bread, and Saltine crackers for you. Tuck in."

"Not hungry," mumbled Michael, turning green again.

"You haven't eaten since lunch yesterday." Hippocrates frowned. He'd returned home to check in on his girls and made soup to have something to do with his hands. It was his grandmother's recipe. At least Michael wasn't throwing his trays at the matrons and orderlies anymore, for Ruthie had put a stop to that really quickly. He didn't even bother with pretending to be upset anymore because this truly angered him. He knelt down on the pavement and opened the tall cylindrical container. "Do you want me to force feed you like I do my two year old when she's ill. You are not going to starve yourself! This took hours!"

"I don't want it." Michael crossed his arms, defiant.

"Michael," said Remus softly.

"Oh, yeah, well I don't give a damn what you want. Abbey ..." Hippocrates stopped after he said his wife's name because it hurt too much. It hurt to breathe. Michael handed the open container back to Michael and walked off.

"Hippocrates!" Remus called after him and followed him down the street. They passed Muggle shops. Remus slowed down and walked beside him. He lowered his voice, sympathetic and firm. "He never wanted this to happen. Michael told me the other day he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"He's running out of time," said Hippocrates. "What about what I want? I want my wife back! I can't even do a ponytail right."

"I'm sorry?" Remus lost him.

"Abbey does this high ponytail thing. Cecilia told me I do it all wrong, and she did Maisie's hair. They both look like homeless people because Maisie's got this big lump on top of the ponytail ...and the nanny fixed it." Hippocrates knew it sounded completely stupid. And he'd forgotten the imaginary friends New Year's tea party thing, too. He showed Remus his pretty pink fingernails. He'd meant to read his girls a bedtime story and somehow ended up as a hostage at a salon. "Look at this."

"Yes, I noticed earlier, but I wasn't going to say anything. It's not your shade, Healer Smethwyck." Remus walked into a Muggle shop and came back with a bag of cheap mini chocolate-covered pastries. "You still eat these?"

"Thanks." Hippocrates took the bag and opened it. He took three. In truth, Abbey preferred these because she had a sweet tooth. He didn't deprive his kids of sweets or anything like that. He just didn't touch the stuff. Remus watched him, a bemused expression on his face, and Hippocrates ate one and deposited the others into the bag. "It's like eating sugar, like literally eating sugar. That's vile."

Remus apologized, picking up on his mistake too late. "Oh, you're the health nut. You know, if people wanted to mess you up, they'd have an interesting way going about it. You want me to take those?"

Hippocrates shook his head, for he'd give them to the girls. He clutched the bag and gestured at the one in Remus's hand. Hippocrates had meant to give it to him on Christmas Eve. Remus found two Christmas tins of chocolate fudge and chocolate chip biscuits, his usual gift, and a small box filled with sealed containers of Wolfsbane Potion. He didn't ask what it what it was. He ripped open a red envelope and read through a Christmas card. He started crying after reading the first couple lines.

Hippocrates turned away from him as they went back towards St. Mungo's and concentrated on the old mannequin.

The card was written in Abbey's hand.

Hippocrates let him collect himself and cleared his throat, getting down to business because he desperately needed to think of something else. "I lost my funding for the Lexington Noir Project."

Remus, wiping his eyes, nodded. It took him a moment to process this. "All of it?"

"Every damn thing," said Hippocrates. He'd actually been expecting this what with Delores Umbridge's new sanctions against werewolves. He scratched his chin. "I'll appeal, of course, for it's my case study. Probably won't go anywhere."

Remus jerked his head towards Michael, driving the point home.

"Yeah, I know. Damn it." Hippocrates slammed his fist into his open hand. Delores Umbridge's stroke of whatever it was, her drafted anti-werewolf legislation made the Lexington Noir Project almost nonexistent. He found it extremely difficult to find and create loopholes. "I really, really hate that woman."

"Me, too," said Remus, cutting himself short. Hippocrates stopped, taken aback, because he'd expected a rant on this woman. He, Hippocrates, had never heard Remus go off, but Abbey had said it was truly something. Remus, thinking it over as he walked over and handed Michael his handkerchief, gave him the edited version. "If she'd been attacked, or it was someone she knew, I'd understand. Of course, if she 'd been attacked, I would hope she'd die."

"Remus Lupin!" The reaction surprised him, though Hippocrates couldn't help being on same page. He nodded at Michael, who chowed down on the soup. "It's good stuff, isn't it? And you were hungry. Want some more? I bought some for lunch. Got a whole soup pot at home if you want some tomorrow."

"Thanks," said Michael.

He took the other one when Hippocrates conjured it. Michael and Remus had only known each other for a few days and met each other a couple times, and they got on quite well. They exchanged small talk, nothing really, as Hippocrates stood back and let the magic happen. Remus got him to talk, whether he knew it or not, as Hippocrates filled in stuff in his head. Michael had two brothers. He'd gotten in a fight in a pub and a werewolf had laid in wait to get its target. Michael swore this werewolf was a hired hitman because he'd never seen him in his life.

"He left you in a dumpster to die," said Hippocrates, certain he had heard this spiel before.

He was all lectured out for the day and wanted Michael to here this. Abbey appealed to the truth, so he didn't want to hide anything from Micael, either. It was easier to rip off the bandage. Abbey sugar coated nothing. When Cecilia had complained about the prospect of another baby sister, Abbey told her to suck it up and act like a proper big sister. At five, Cecilia might not have known it, but her mother gave her her first life lesson.

"If you give up," said Remus, taking over for Hippocrates,"and you want to crawl in a ditch and die, that's your business. I know we're strangers, Micheal, but if you give up ... if you give now, I swear to God, I will never forgive you."

Michael made a face, probably thinking about telling him off. He sat there and shifted in the wheelchair after he finished his seconds. Hippocrates waved his wand and the containers disappeared; they got stored in his locker. Hippocrates was shocked Remus went this far. Werewolves, the ones who couldn't handle the change, did bleed to death. Hippocrates had seen a lot in his time at the hospital. Sending a werewolf home or out on the street after the first transformation was downright scary.

Hippocrates couldn't back down. He lived in fear, as he played that scene with Greyback in his mind all the time. Had it really only been four days? If he walked away right now, he would be abandoning everything he stood for. The last twenty years had to mean something. His wife's death, his child's death had to mean something.

Michael's voice shook uncontrollably. "Wh-why do you care? I'm only one person, and this isn't going to get any better. I don't matter. Once you discharge me, that's it. What if I don't want to figure it out?"

"Michael," said Remus, no doubt feeling like he'd taken one step forward and three steps back. He spoke evenly. "You didn't know Abigail like I did. She and this man, Hippocrates Smethwyck, have risked everything for me and for others. I would be nothing without them."

"Abbey died for you," said Hippocrates quietly, regaining his confidence. Michael stared at him, confused. Hippocrates wished to keep this short and sweet because he couldn't talk about his wife for long without losing it. He placed his hands on the handles of the wheelchair and spun him back towards the hospital. Abbey was not going to let Fenrir Greyback enter the Dai Llwellyn ward. "Michael, you were John Doe. You've got a choice to make here, mate."

The mannequin in the ugly green pinafore beckoned they forward with a finger. Remus went first. Hippocrates placed a hand on Michael's shoulder as they passed through the shimmering glass.


End file.
